Jason Schippers loved comic books, as shown by this photo of him with a Hulk head. His mother uses this photo as her own Facebook avatar. / Special to The Register

Written by

kyle munson’s iowa kmunson@dmreg.com

Jason Schippers’ gravestone sits in Glendale Cemetery in Des Moines. The flat, rectangular slab of black granite is etched with the unmistakable Superman “S” logo as well as a heartfelt message from family: “Always in our hearts — our super hero.”

The Des Moines native lived in the metro area most of his life, but died just over a year ago at age 29 in a hospital in Denver, Colo., after having moved to the Mile High City for a new job. His gravesite offers the typical solemn solitude for remembrance. But this isn’t where Schippers’ mother, Marla, has found the most comfort since her son died last year on Oct. 31 — not just Halloween, but also her birthday.

Facebook has become crucial therapy in this grieving mother’s daily routine. Marla wakes up each day and signs into her late son’s account on her iPad. Once a week she wishes his 313 Facebook friends a “Happy Pimpin’ Friday” just as Schippers did in his lifetime.

Schippers’ younger sister, Angie von Glan, 25, helped her mother and dad, Ralph, complete the process to convert the Facebook account into an official memorial — a solution the social media company devised to help prevent all of us receiving stray friend suggestions from the deceased.

So Schippers’ page in some ways is frozen in time with 623 photos and other digital relics of his life accessible only to his Facebook friends.

But in another sense the Facebook wall for this bunch remains a lively, ongoing echo of the late Iowan with two to five new posts each day. Marla finds it “comforting and amazing all at the same time.” There’s much more to read than one concise epitaph.

“It helps me,” she said. “It’s like I’m still talking to Jason when I can do this. It’s like he’s still part of these conversations.”

Schippers was a tech-savvy member of social media circles in Des Moines who worked a series of marketing jobs. On his own Twitter page — with his 8,780 archived tweets still very much public — he described himself as loving “comics, music, movies, ink, UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship) & marketing.” The daily memorial Facebook posts reflect these passions.

A friend writes: “I finally watched the Green Lantern, you would have been pleased. … You lived your life like a lantern. No fear.”

One friend posts a photo of his young son dressed as Superman for Halloween trick-or-treating, in Schippers’ honor.

There’s a cryptic reference to Rao, the god (I think) of Superman’s home planet of Krypton.

Fellow Register columnist Marc Hansen wrote an eloquent, poignant column on Schippers a year ago. Like everybody else, Hansen expected that the young man’s cause of death “won’t stay a secret long.”

Yet it has.

Schippers suffered through a few bouts with pneumonia in the years before his death and had been prescribed blood thinners after a blood clot was discovered in his right lung.

He tweeted from Denver two weeks before his death: “not sure how many people can say they have coughed up blood on a tree outside the Governor’s mansion. but i can :).”

He emerged from surgery to remove 60 percent of his right lung “being his smart-ass self,” Marla said.

Technically, Schippers reacted to a blood transfusion and died of acute respiratory distress syndrome (ARDS). Some unknown bacterial/fungal infection is the likely true culprit, but doctors remain “totally befuddled” even after an autopsy, said Ralph.

“It appears it’ll forever be a mystery now,” he said.

“All of a sudden he was just sick, and all of a sudden he was just gone,” said friend Dallas J. Moore of Ames, who had planned to hire Schippers for his Social Republick consulting firm.

“He was one of those people that reminded me of a diamond,” Moore said. “He was very multifaceted.”

As if to illustrate: While a student at Central College in Pella a decade ago, Schippers became friends with Des Moines civil rights activist and eventual state Rep. Ako Abdul-Samad during a conference on white privilege.

Schippers later worked on Abdul-Samad’s campaigns and on behalf of his Creative Visions nonprofit. Schippers mentored Abdul-Samad’s step-grandson. The legislator officiated at Schippers’ funeral.

Abdul-Samad also relates to Marla and Ralph as a grieving parent whose own son died in 1997.

Abdul-Samad faced his own medical crisis this fall with removal of a brain tumor. Sitting in his doctor’s office, the politician said this week that he often thinks of Schippers as he’s preparing his reelection campaign. He visits Schippers’ Facebook wall, too.

“I think it comforts other people because of the fact that they know they’re not by themselves,” he said. “That’s part of the difference between today and 1997.”

Gatherings in Schippers’ honor do continue to be more than virtual, after a funeral last year with more than 800 mourners.

Schippers’ parents and a couple dozen other family members and friends convened Oct. 31 at a Des Moines restaurant to share stories.

Saturday night, a more raucous group will dress in the argyle sweaters and false eyeglasses that Schippers loved for a memorial downtown Des Moines bar crawl starting at 7 p.m. at High Life Lounge.

Meanwhile, the Facebook memorial lives on. Marla told her son in a recent wall post that he’ll have to have somebody else to play with in the afterlife — not Angie.

Schippers and his sister were best friends, but not even the curious brand of immortality of social media could console these parents were they to lose a second child.